Disturbed Delirium
by GloriaNewt
Summary: A witch is recovering in a non-magic hospital after a serious accident which comes with catastrophic implications that will turn her life upside down...
1. Chapter 1

It was raining again, the British summer living up to its usual gloomy stereotype as heavy bullets of water spat viciously from the sky, plummeting droplets falling unstoppably towards the bleak grey tarmac of the pavement below, drumming their syncopated rhythms of chance as little steamy rivers of condensation dribbled idly down the frozen surface of the large picture window, imposing the miniature rivers and rapidly forming tributaries onto the drab city scene below. She sat alone in her private room, a sparkling white cell located within the bewildering labyrinth of hospital corridors, sternly watching each raindrop in its perilous course to its final destination, long spidery fingers absent-mindedly playing with the irksome cannula that had been sunk into the back of her bony hand, her hazel eyes blank and fixated as she watched the incessant rainfall, dark hair loosened in a cloud of gossamer strands fell across her bony shoulders, grazing faded porcelain skin which was riddled with the ugly protrusion of slender bones in a frightening knot-work pattern like a decaying raffia basket, her spine standing out clearly from her hunched back- protruding like some invertebrate wearing its skeletal structure on the outside, the cold clinical environment had long since robbed her of any of her usual mystique, each ugly callous on her soul lying open and exposed to the elements, confusion dining hungrily upon her crumbling state of mind.

"Not safe conditions to be out on a broomstick…" she thought idly to herself as a jagged bolt of lightning carved ruthlessly across the humid skies, before flinching sharply as her bewildered senses tried and failed to categorise the unexpected thought. "Broomsticks?" she muttered beneath her breath, pulling at a trailing sliver of hair with trembling fingers, winding the ebony strand tightly around her digits, as she distractedly tried to find some form of logical meaning to her irrational outburst. "Where on earth did that come from?" She closed her aching eyes and cradled her head in her ice-cold hands, massaging her temples furiously. A sudden jolt from beneath her saw her clutch tightly onto the arms of the immobile chair as her imagination felt her launch from side to side, a wild wind whipping exotically through her hair as her nervous system tingled with the pure adrenaline of being alive- flying as high as the clouds in the perfect still sky…

Her eyes flew open, her breaths coming in short panicky gasps, her lungs constricting in terror as she clutched fearfully onto the temporary lifeline that was the chair, the grounding reminder of her present day surroundings, her fraying harness as she stood atop the crumbling rock of her reality which was threatening to disintegrate beneath her once more and pitch her into the dark chasms of madness. Broomsticks? Magic? Potions? Every day, a new bewilderment came to tease her, taunting her with the deliciously welcoming prospect of the madness that awaited her.

"Stop it… being hysterical again…" she admonished herself as the quaking ceased, "Magic does not exist outside of fairy tales…"

Nothing had been the same since then, the day that everything had changed- the day of the accident. Nothing made sense anymore- it was if her life had shattered into fragments at the touch of fate- her very soul splintering into several thousand shimmering pieces, glistening mirages of false perception littering her hazy recollections of the past- a dark, unsettling vortex of pain and non-clarity, little snippets of information peppering her stagnating interest in day to day existence as she desperately continued to try to apply her once logical mind to the nigh on impossible task of analysing her current situation.

Constance Hardbroom. The helpful letters on the tag fastened securely around her slender wrist bore her assumed identity. Constance. She wasn't even sure if she was a Constance, but the name had had a comforting nudge of reality about it, a faint tug of reassurance that she had clung onto with the grip of a drowning man, the one lifebelt that she had been thrown and she had seized it. But the daily question evaded her as usual- just exactly **who** was she? As far as she could remember, she was a teacher, a teacher who had had an accident, a big accident, and now, all that she could think of was the insane notion that she somehow had the occasional, delusional thoughts that kept crossing her mind, references to… magic?

"Don't be silly… Constance?" she tried the name for size once more as she muttered distractedly to herself, wrapping her long arms tightly around her bent knees, "Magic does not exist…"

Her roving eyes fell upon the clock that slowly marked the passing of her life, religiously continuing in its steady path, not one tick spared in pity as the metal hands crawled past once more, caught up in an eternal race around the circular plane of the clock. Half past three. Any time now…

Her quiet reverie was interrupted by the usual knock upon the door before a kindly looking nurse showed the usual eclectic mix of concerned looking women into the quiet white haven; the short plump woman with greying hair and angular spectacles, the elderly old spinster with wild, untamed frizzy hair and a disconcerting habit of punctuating her speech with urgent swipes into thin air with a conductors baton that she wore safely stashed behind her left ear, and finally, the young, tanned woman dressed in a royal blue tracksuit that looked strangely misplaced against the flowing black garments of her fellow visitors.

"She's still not eating…" came the muted whisper that was meant to escape her superb hearing registers.

"Oh, Constance…" the grey-haired woman bit her lower lip almost nervously as she inched forwards, desperation and concern etched deep into the trench of every wrinkle that traced across her aging skin. She shook her head sadly as she once more met with the blank but slightly fearful eyes of the slender specimen. She knelt by the tall woman's side, softly stroking the back of her band, tears welling in her eyes at the involuntary retraction of the limb, the blatant refusal of contact represented in that one action may as well have been a row of steel shutters slamming down over her heart once more. "It's still no good, isn't it?" she breathed, a salty tear tracing down her cheek, "I am still unrecognisable from the next person to you…" She too retracted her hand, tucking a colourful blanket around the frozen limbs of the patient, careful to hide the extent of most of her obvious distraught. Every day she repeated this ritual, a maternal fire driving her on in the blind hope that one day the tormented woman who sat decomposing of life and the will to live in the chair opposite would reach out and take her proffered hand, the spark of recognition reigniting deep within those lifeless almond-shaped eyes, proudly announcing the return of her Constance, but they still remained resolutely blank.

Constance said nothing, but firmly bit the inside of her ulcerated cheek, reopening the old sores, pained and unsettled by the older woman's reaction, wishing with all her heart that she could reach out and offer the reciprocation that was so evidently craved, but a resolute dark fog had sprawled out over most of her recollections, shrouding them in an impenetrable gloom that made it impossible for her searching mind to seize the truth.

Xxx

**Two weeks earlier (These events are not currently remembered by Constance)…**

Constance Hardbroom rose from her seat authoritatively as she swept onto the rostrum, summoning her notes for the Witch Education Conference onto the wooden reading stand with a small puff of purple smoke and straightening the imaginary creases in her black velvet gown before raising her hazel eyes to the captive audience, agog with anticipation at the promise of hearing her choice of discussion for the new academic year- "Confidence and Control". Her heart fluttered slightly in her chest as she felt the familiar prickle of adrenaline building within her as she met with the sea of eyes and faces. She cleared her throat calmly, waiting for the brief rustle of programmes and seats to reside inside the restless atmosphere of the auditorium before she began her address. A microphone sat unused to her right- her commanding vocals able to reduce the room to rapt silence within seconds.

"Good afternoon fellow witches and wizards, my name is Constance Hardbroom, Deputy Headmistress of Cackles Academy and advisory member of the Witches Advanced Educational Standards Committee. My topic of discussion for today I believe highlights the very area of which many younger witch students are severely lacking in their studies, the distinct deficiency of precision and finesse that determine the success or failure of many a complex spell or potion, the need for both confidence and control within one's magical work. I would like to begin by drawing attention to—"

She broke off, words freezing in her throat in fright as she finally made eye contact with the mysterious witch who sat in the very middle of the front row, directly in front of her as she lowered the black, monogrammed conference programme from in front of her face to reveal two familiar eyes that were sparkling with malice. A vicious smile crept across her faintly lined face as she tilted her head to one side, feigning interest as she watched Constance stumble, inwardly delighted at the fulfilment of her usual brutal influence within mere seconds of the speech commencing. She raised an enquiring eyebrow to the tall witch, conveying a simple but threatening message- "_Missed me?"_

Constance gripped the edge of the reading desk tightly, gulping in vital breaths of air as her traitorous hands gleefully betrayed her as they trembled violently, her knuckles threatening to burst through the milky, translucent skin that covered her hands, her heart rate doubling exponentially as she once again met the gaze of the feared adversary, trying desperately to re-gather herself and continue.

"I-I would l-like to begin by… by… by…" words choked her as the alien feeling of tears flooded into her hazel eyes, a scalding flow breaking loose and trailing slowly down her usually unflappable complexion, a wave of memories rising with the destructive power of a tsunami within her mind.

"I'm s-sorry, I-I can't..." she broke off, her legs feeling as if they were about to buckle beneath her miniscule weight as she folded her willowy arms across her chest and vanished to the sanctity of the dark world of the backstage wings, the wave of curious mutterings and gossip rising to a crescendo amidst the perplexed audience due to the sudden disappearance of their distinguished speaker.

Her head was spinning as she slumped weakly against the wooden panelled wall, her palms greased with a cold sweat as she mopped her brow, her heart still beating a violent tattoo as the next speaker was rapidly rushed onto stage, her sudden departure blamed upon "unexpected illness". Well, perhaps that wasn't quite so far off the mark… she thought to herself, shivering violently as if she had been doused in a bath of frozen water, her throat sticky and dry with fear as she peeped furtively out through the small chink in the heavy, plush curtains which enveloped the wings of the stage, shrouding her protectively in their heavy shadows. The seat in question now sat mockingly empty, its occupant leaving as soon as her unwelcome presence had been detected. Constance groaned faintly to herself as she slid down the length of the panelling, falling softly to the floor, exhausted limbs weighed down with shock unable to support her anymore, confusion flourishing triumphantly within her reeling mind.

She had no idea how long she had sat there, the muffled ramblings of the various speakers buzzing inside her aching head as if a swarm of wasps had decided to nest between her temples, her usual calm, dignified manner abandoned as she lay slumped in the darkness, her analytical mind desperately searching for the solution to the umpteen questions that were now flying around inside her head like a swarm of bats at sunset, ricocheting off at bizarre tangents of wild imaginations and paranoid threats that grew into a dense black cloud of terror. Why here? Why her_? _She had honestly thought that she could have survived the rest of her life without having to make contact with those deranged, staring eyes, eyes that pierced deeply into the depths of her very soul, wilting her assumed confidence as effectively as an ice cube being placed into the path of the blazing midday sun. She had always been able to break her down, burrowing so deeply inside her tortured mind like a worm-infested apple that she had no idea where her fears ended and her terror began. She had survived seven years of her torture, and yet she had barely changed in that time- hair still scraped back into that low bun, the familiar black garb worn with severe traditional pride, and the smile, oh that malevolent grin, the eyes narrowing to snake-like slits as she sized up her prey, almost licking her lips in anticipation, baiting her quarry before she struck, enjoying the torment and tasting the terror that cloyed heavily in the dusty air of the auditorium.

She rose to her feet, a quick spell blasting open the nearest fire-exit, a chilling breeze rolling through the open door accompanied by the faint roll of thunder from an approaching storm, the heavy bass rumble acting as the final antidote to the sweltering humidity of the day. She had to get out here before _**she**_returned, solitude would only give her adversary the strategic advantage that she craved, so it would be safer to flee into the teeming crowds that littered the teaming Thames Embankment, to regain her anonymity as a faceless member of the crowd for long enough to safely dematerialise once more.

Heavy, frozen raindrops pelted her immediately as she ran into the soaking rain, her velvet gown absorbing most of the icy moisture immediately, soaking her to the skin, her long ebony hair unwinding from its usual tidy bun and escaping wildly, little tendrils plastered to her porcelain features as she ran through the deep puddles that blocked her passage from the hidden threat of the conference buildings to the safety of the public environment. Rounding the nearest corner, she paused to clutch breathlessly at a stitch that was now tearing ragingly in her side, the sudden exertion after hours of near paralysis affecting a near scream of protest from her cramping muscles. She straightened up, brushing hair angrily out of her soaked face before an aged hand appeared from the shadows, closing in a vice-like grip upon her frail upper arm.

"Well, look who it is… Constance Elizabeth Hardbroom, unless I'm very much mistaken..."

It had been over fifteen years since she had last heard those clipped tones, but even the slightly sour edge to her assailant's breath remained the same, true to the detail of every memory that haunted her incessantly, etched deep into her memories and nightmares to that very day.

She opened her mouth to reply, but her voice had frozen in her throat, magic rising in her veins as she bristled at the unwelcome touch once more.

The other witch leant closer, her sharp, talon-like fingernails clawing into the emaciated flesh of Constance's arm like a bird of prey swooping upon its target, any assumed niceties vanishing abruptly from her voice as she growled menacingly into her ear, the formidable witch paralysed beneath the weight of her whispered words.

"I've been waiting for this day… for such a _very_ long time…"

The probing fingers slid almost lovingly down the trembling limb, Constance's old wounds prickling with renewed fervour beneath the deadly caress as a stream of blue sparks shot from the bared casting gesture, a white-hot pain rippled through Constance's skin, causing her eyes to roll back into her head in agony, her lips firmly sealed, determined not to give the satisfaction of hearing her screams for mercy, summoning her own powers to deliver a heavy shock to the hand that was holding her. Powerless to focus her formidable magic, she kicked out blindly, a heavy thud telling her that her leather boot had indeed made contact with the desired area on the shins of her opponent. Unable to spare even a fleeting glance over her shoulder, she took to her heels and began to run, her natural instinct to survive kicking in as she felt the trace of the shadow of her pursuer snapping at her heels, her lungs nearly ready to explode beneath the taxing demands being placed upon them as she took the next left and sprinted helplessly into the midst of the blazing lights and roaring wall of sound.

Directionless and blinded by terror, the last thing she heard was the angry, urgent snarl of the speeding car horns before the heavy collision and the final sickening crack of her own head colliding heavily with the unforgiving tarmac before the world faded to nothingness.

Darkness reigned supreme.

**Xxx**

**(These events are set back in the present day)**

Amelia Cackle shifted uncomfortably in her chair, the last dregs of her patient resolve beginning to ebb away. Seeing Constance like this every day was like having a knife repeatedly stabbed into her heart. Blankness, indifference, the skeletal figure that slept fitfully, hunched up into a tight ball in the bed opposite her was nothing but a shell; a walking, talking facsimile of the woman she had grown to love as a daughter of her own. In the past few years she had finally begun to prise the lid off the guarded heart of the other woman, getting to now a few scarce details about the notoriously secretive potions mistress, the roots of friendship slowly taking hold and growing between them were now brutally uprooted, torn apart by one act of fate.

How would she have felt, standing there on that unseasonably cold July morning, waving off her deputy headmistress to address the Witch Education Conference if she had known that that would have been the last time that she saw her, the last chance to see her beloved Constance before the accident? She remembered receiving the official looking letter, hurriedly scrawled in the elegant hand of Emmeline Hawthorn, the esteemed leader of the conference events, urgently informing her that one Constance Hardbroom had been taken ill at the conference during her speech, and then had later been involved in a serious road-traffic accident. She was now being treated in one of London's foremost hospitals. The embossed cream paper had slipped from between her numb fingers, fluttering lazily to rest upon the polished mahogany surface of her desk as her blood ran cold. Constance, her apparently indestructible, unbreakable deputy, the dependable certainty that lent her unique brand of calm stability to the academy, now lying helpless in a mortal hospital. Shock and adrenaline had prickled through her veins as she had frantically scanned the meaningless black scrawl once more, dazed as she reread the text again, wishing wildly that it bore a different account, feeling as if she were in the clutches of a particularly malevolent nightmare as she recalled her fellow members of staff from their respective summer breaks to make the long journey down to London, unaware of the cruel condition that awaited her. Externally, Constance's injuries were mild, her magic having taken care of the majority of her wounds, leaving only a mild coating of faint bruises and pale grazes that littered her pale skin, but magic had been powerless to reverse the effects of the internal confusion- the complete disturbance of memory, the absence of any recall of her past. A woman who had been one of the most formidable, powerful witches of her age, rendered useless in the split second that she had strayed into the path of the speeding cars.

"Why Constance?" she whispered, brushing a thin wisp of hair away from the slumbering woman's face, "Why did you run? What were you running from? What happened at the conference earlier in the day?" She paused to dab a tear away from the corner of her eye, her quiet tones falling to a hushed whisper.

"Come back to me Constance…" she appealed, "Please, come back…"

**A/N: Yay, after 5 weeks of stubborn writers block, this little idea has been created to distract me from the stalling fifth chapter of Icecold Vengence- luckily, this fic seems to be progressing a little faster, and chapter 2 is already 75% written, so expect another upload fairly soon! Huge thanks to the lovely Dissecting Pomegranates for reading this through for me and for helping with the title (and putting up with my moaning about lack of inspiration for my other fics!) **

**Reviews always make my day!**


	2. Chapter 2

"Miss Cackle?"

Amelia jolted upright from her slumped post of vigil at Constance's bedside. Blinking blearily, she looked around for the source of the noise.

"Miss Cackle?" a young looking doctor was beckoning to her from the doorway, "Can I have a word please?"

"Yes, yes of course…" she rose to her feet, "What about?" She gestured to the quietly sleeping Constance.

"Don't worry Amelia, I'm here!" Davina Bat peeped around the doorway, her bird-like head tilted quirkily to one side as she shuffled quickly into Amelia's vacant chair and pulled a large wodge of knitting needles and vibrantly coloured wool from her capacious handbag. "I'll keep an eye on her!"

"Thank you… Davina," she muttered distractedly, raising a quizzical eyebrow at the awaiting medic.

"This way…" he led her out of the door and they seated themselves on a couple of vinyl covered chairs.

"Dr Carroll isn't it?" frowned Amelia, certain that she had seen the young man before in her many anxious hours spent in the white-walled maze of the hospital.

"Yes," he smiled professionally, "Miss Cackle, there are just a few questions that I would like to ask and clarify for you regarding Constance's condition. Now, I presume, that you are acting in place of any family that Constance may have? I'm not sure if it is a system failure or not, but we are unable to trace her upon our systems?"

"Yes," nodded Amelia, "As far as I am aware, Constance has no surviving family members, I-I'm all that she's got…" she trailed off, rubbing the back of her hand awkwardly across her eyes as her voice caught momentarily in her throat.

He continued to ask various mundane questions for the next few minutes, making notes in an indecipherable scrawl upon his clipboard.

"Very good, thank you very much for helping me with this, Miss Cackle. Now," he paused, a more serious expression appearing upon his faintly lined features as he looked carefully at Amelia, "As I'm sure you are more than aware, Constance is experiencing severe memory loss sustained from the trauma of her accident. We are making every effort to bring about some form of recognition that may well help to unlock the memories that are currently lost to her- you say that she works at your school?"

"Yes, she's my deputy headmistress,"

"Ah, well, that is certainly making some progress towards some recall," he smiled hopefully, "She was talking only this morning about how she believed that she worked at Coombe Wood School—"

"Coombe Wood?" interrupted Amelia, her heart plummeting in dismay, "No, my school is Cackles Academy!"

"Ah," the doctor sighed deeply, "Well, Miss Cackle, the memory is a curious thing, so fragile, malleable to new constructions… Memory loss is a complicated condition, quite often it has been known for the memory, in order to avoid the black holes of nothingness created by a loss of memory, to even fabricate a new recollection in order to fill the gaps, so as to speak. The mind doesn't like being unable to account for the missing gaps in awareness, so substitutes a creative response, with a probable likelihood in order to explain the absence."

Amelia smiled grimly as she bit the inside of her lip.

"Only time will tell," the doctor assured her, "it is highly probable, given some time that Constance will begin to recall her past, and I'm sure that things will begin to piece themselves together again..."

xxx

Somewhere between consciousness and sleep, she was floating dreamily, washed along on the undercurrents of fitful slumber, her mind meandering aimlessly through a bewildering array of uncorrelated images and sounds that were leaking slowly from the crack in the wall of the solid dam that had been constructed to memories of her past.

_Light was trickling in from the small ground-level window, casting a faint puddle of moonlight upon the mossy stone floor of the basement room, the broken tiles covered in a simple black and white diamond pattern long since forced aside by the determined lichen, the occasional ant or woodlouse scuttling fleetingly through the illumination before being lost to the shadows once more. It stank of decay. Her breath was a fine mist upon the frozen air, a visible shiver. Three steps forward, "One- Two-Three", counted with precision before her wildly clawing hands met with the usual stern oppression of the crumbling brickwork, little flakes of disintegrating plaster nestling themselves firmly in the traces of grime beneath her grubby fingernails_. _Time seemed to lose its influence in a place like this, each interval of time elongated beyond belief, a miniscule second extended grimly beyond her like the bleakest day on earth. She coughed- a sound so loud in the hushed acoustic it was if a bomb had exploded. The damp, musty smell invaded her sensitive nostrils as she probed gently along the walls of her confined cell. Four steps across "One-Two-Three-Four", as she stepped tentatively into the never-ending blackness, her shallow breathing quickening as she groped meaninglessly in exploration of her isolation. She let out a stifled scream as her trembling hand came into contact with a cold, slimy surface, an alien presence in the dark world of her confinement, which caused her to rapidly abandon all traces of curiosity in a hurried bid to return to the comforting sliver of light. She had always detested the dark, nothing but a void in which thousands of eyes were staring mockingly at her, whispering faintly as they sized up their prey. Fear was crawling underneath her skin, itching with adrenaline as the ever-present dripping noise seemed to magnify in volume, the scuttling noise of the unknown company getting ever nearer. "Not rats, please not rats…" her heart was thudding violently in her chest as she backed up against the damp wall, "Please, no..." her breathing was growing ever shallower, the very walls of the small space seeming to close up menacingly upon her, savagely tormenting her with the knowledge that there was nowhere to hide…_

_The scene changed with a brutal familiarity, she was standing at the top of a sweeping spiral staircase, light flooding in from the clear glass skylight that was greying with accumulated dust. Down and down, the flights descended in a tight circle of marble steps and wrought-iron handrails, miles upon miles of gothic splendour. "Tick-Tock, Tick-Tock" the splendid mahogany cased clock continued in its continual ostinato, "Tick-Tock, Tick-Tock", never a second lost, rigidly adhering to its strict tempo._

_Footsteps approached from behind, ringing out crisply upon the bare wooden boards with a terrifying menace. She braced herself, knowing instinctively what was to come, closing her eyes tightly and struggling violently as an arm snaked tightly around her throat, a low greeting growled softly into her ear, a voice that jarred achingly with familiarity, a frustrating sensation of having heard her companion's tones before- but where on earth? She was certain that she had never been there, but the whole scenario screamed familiarity…_

"_Oh Constance, Constance…" the voice whispered, a humourless chuckle seeping cruelly from between her lips, "What am I going to do with you?"…_

xxx

"_**Onwards ever striving onwards, proudly on our brooms we fly…."**_

Davina was humming to herself absent-mindedly as she sat knitting a decidedly-misshapen jumper- the occupant having to be roughly the size of a five year old child with six legs and two short, stumpy necks, her metal needles meeting with a rapid clicking motion as she smiled gently over the top of her small round glasses at the dreaming occupant of the bed. "Far away in the land of Nod…" she sighed whimsically as she adjusted the colour of the wool with a quick spell, causing a pink and lime-green hounds tooth check to ripple into life across her woollen creation. "There, much better…" she crooned to her jumper as she painstakingly realigned the needles. "Now then, where was I?

"_**Straight and true above the treetops, shadows on the moonlit sky!"**_

Her wavering soprano teetered to a halt as she came face to face with the wide, staring eyes of Constance Hardbroom who had abruptly snapped out of her apparently blissful slumber upon detecting the naggingly familiar melody.

"That song… I know that song!" came the feverish mutter of the dazed woman as she pushed a dark lock of hair away from her eyes, an enquiring hand grasping forwards and tilting Davina's chin towards her, "Is is a nursery rhyme?", she breathed excitedly, "Is it a children's song?" She continued to follow Davina with wild eyes, murmuring the strangely familiar text beneath her breath.

"_**Ne-er a day will pass before us when we have not tried our best…"**_

It was so familiar- at last a concrete memory!

"_**Kept our cauldrons bubbling nicely, cast our spells with zest!" **_

"No!" she sank dejectedly back into the pillows, clapping her hands over her disbelieving ears, "No, no, no, no, no!" she continued writhing upon her back, attempting to blot the magical verse from her mind, "Not magic again!"

She rolled firmly onto her side, her aching muscles trembling and protesting at the sudden exertion as she flailed her exasperated arms, punching her pillow violently as sobs wracked her body, convinced that she was now about to descend the final step into madness.

"I am Constance Hardbroom, I live in London- I have a job, a family, a life! I am not a witch, I AM NOT A WITCH, I AM NOT A WITCH!" She was screaming now, blood-curdling yelps of dissent as she slammed her balled fists into the forgiving feather pillows, Davina reaching forward and hitting the red alarm button by the bed.

"WITCHES DON'T EXIST! MAGIC DOESN'T EXIST!"

Her screams were echoing through the hospital as a flurry of white-coated officials sprinted through the corridors towards the source of the commotion.

xxx

She lay in her sedated haze, the soundtrack of the hospital registering faintly upon her awareness, her mouth was unbearably dry, and the mere thought of a glass of cool water was enough to push her into desperation in a bid to alleviate the arid, dry conditions of her mouth. Just one drop of the sparkling liquid would be enough, so, so thirsty, if only she were able to drink from the vast oasis that was hovering unhelpfully across her imagination, a huge, shimmering blue pool of fictional water- "water, water everywhere but not a drop to drink.."- was that from the poem of the Ancient Mariner? Her mind continued to wander in its hazy state, aimlessly slurring from one topic to the next in an almost drunken display of distracted concentration. She tried to move, but her limbs felt as if they had been cast in lead, unmoving and unrelenting in their slumber, she was marooned within the confines of her own bewildered mind, unable even to lift a finger to alert others to her condition. The thirst was slowly driving her insane, a burning desire flaming within her parched throat, ripping mercilessly through her mouth in an excruciating wave of desperation. She must have water…

She could feel her hands trembling, quaking beneath the crushing power that was dancing around her fingertips, a blinding haze of the purest white light glaring into the room as the raw energy continued to build, curling around her torso, seeking a release as her frail body began to shudder violently beneath its oppressive mass. A clap of thunder rolled overhead, a great bass drum that was frighteningly near, reverberating within the very walls of her room. Her cracked, dry lips parted as she fought to draw breath, panting faintly as the magic danced uncontrollably around her, crackles of static electricity whipping through her long dark hair which was flapping wildly in the breeze around her slender features. Rain began to fall, cool droplets landing gently upon her blazing forehead and trickling blissfully down her face, flowing into her dehydrated mouth and soothing her gently, quenching the intense thirst until her recovering senses alerted her to the fact that there happened to be a thunderstorm _**inside **_the hospital_. _Panicking, she pushed herself up into a sitting position, staring up in wonder at where the ceiling in her room used to be, only to be confronted by the terrifying sight of angry purple-grey clouds that littered the open skies, great forks of jagged lightning cleaving effortlessly through the dark mass, rain bucketing down in fat bullets of water that rapidly began to form icy lakes upon the spotless white floor.

"Stop it, make it stop, please make it stop, please make it stop…" she buried her head in her trembling hands, whispering a silent, repeated plea for help, tears trickling down her sodden cheeks. So this was what madness felt like, she had finally fallen into the depths of insanity where everything sane and rational fell apart and reassembled itself in a distorted, cluttered cartoon of reality, where laws collapsed and all her beloved rules and guidelines imploded into nothingness.

"Constance?" a heavy knock at the door jarred her senses, as footsteps entered the room. "Constance, what on earth is the matter?" A friendly hand rested upon her arm as one of the nurses knelt worriedly by her bedside. "Constance, can you hear me? It's Julia…" Cautiously, she opened her eyes.

Sunlight was flooding into the room through the sheet glass windows, bathing the white walls in a bright glow of light. Birds were singing merrily above the constant low rumble of the city, punctuated occasionally by the shrill accompaniment of car horns and wailing sirens that provided the accompaniment to the urban scene.

"The storm, the rain… I made it rain...magic… it was magic…" she muttered groggily as she swept a disbelieving hand across her eyes.

"I think you must have been dreaming Constance," came the kindly reply as Julia straightened the thin bedcovers, "It's boiling out there-must be pushing 30 degrees! Summer has finally decided to arrive!"

She paused, looking concernedly down at her mysterious patient who was shivering violently, hunched into a tight ball with her long, spindly arms wrapped tightly around her bony knees.

"Is there anything I can get you? Do you want your lunch now, Constance?" she enquired gently, wondering if the woman would ever eat again given her meagre intake of nutrition.

The offer received an indifferent shrug as the occupant of the bed continued to stare disbelievingly at the gorgeous summer day.

"I'll be back in a minute…" the nurse slipped quietly out of the room, leaving Constance to her befuddled thoughts.

"Must have been dream…" she comforted herself as she pushed the covers back and swung her feet out of bed, preparing to walk over the window to take in the magnificent view of the city, "Nothing more than a stupid dream… I didn't do magic, there is no such thing…there wasn't a storm, everything is going to be alright… "

Splash.

She was standing ankle-deep in a puddle of ice-cold water that sat obstinately on the floor beside her bed, a cruel reminder of the event that she now only wished could have been a dream. The floor dipped and swayed in front of her as she clutched her aching head in fear- what on earth was happening to her?

Xxx

**The next afternoon…**

Her heart lurched in pity as she stared at the grey haired woman who paid her eternal vigil by her bedside, never missing her visiting hours, always watching over her with the concern of a mother over her child, a maternal warmth emanating from every patient smile that she threw in her direction, never breaking in her patience, never cracking in her resolve, her only stated desire was to see Constance return to her old self. But what was her old self, she pondered to herself? What did this mysterious woman know about her, how did she even know her name? What part did she play in her past? Were they close? The usual dense swarm of questions began to buzz within her mind as she stared curiously at her aged guardian.

She cleared her throat tentatively; her lips were a little dry from the sterile hospital environment and stuck together momentarily before she addressed her companion directly for the first time.

"I-I'm sorry for my little outburst earlier…" she muttered faintly whilst examining the backs of her willowy hands, blushing mildly with embarrassment at the memory of her shrieking. Discussion of emotions never came easily to her.

"You're Amelia? I think that's what I've heard everybody else call you…" she tailed off, a small crease appearing between her well defined eyebrows, frowning faintly as she tried to corroborate the hazy evidence that her memory was presenting her with. Her present awareness was shrouded behind a grainy, pixelated wall of contradictions and uncertainties, never leaving her quite certain of any supposed concrete fact that her conscious mind regurgitated, often sacrificing accuracy for the sake of avoiding the presence of gaping holes in time that existed in her recollections, her brain quickly painting over the cracks with the most acceptable materials available, building fresh occurrences to hide the lapses in memory behind.

The other woman nodded swiftly, a reassuring gesture that carried comforting warmth as her blue eyes twinkled with renewed hope.

"Yes, I am Amelia, Amelia Cackle. I am the headmistress of—"

She was cut off by Constance leaning forwards analytically, tilting her head to one side and taking in the sight of her apparent ally.

"So, Amelia Cackle," she tried out the newly acquired name of her companion, "Miss Cackle? Mrs Cackle? How is it that I know you? And how have you come about so much of my own, private information?"

Amelia sighed softly, quietly wishing that she did indeed know more of the guarded potions mistress's unrevealed history before she continued patiently, "I am a headmistress and you are my deputy at Cackles Academy, and you have been since I offered you the post eighteen years ago, Constance. You are one of my most treasured members of staff, highly skilled, highly disciplined with not only yourself, but the girls as well, achieving some of the best grades in the country with your classes—"

"And this, this Cackles Academy?" interrupted Constance, running a weary hand across her aching forehead, "I have lived there, slept there, taught there for eighteen solid years?"

"Yes," nodded Amelia, placing a gentle hand upon the frail arm in front of her, "I assure you that this is the truth…"

Memories were spinning in front of her eyes like a manic kaleidoscope spewing out gaudy shapes and patterns, names and faces of her constructed past hovering relentlessly in front of her eyes- try as she might, Cackles Academy refused to appear from within the mists of her mind, her memory still distinctly telling her that she was Constance Hardbroom, a science teacher at Coombe Wood Secondary school in London. Gritting her teeth, she continued to stare helplessly at her lap before taking a deep breath and asking in a flat monotone the question to which she felt she already knew the answer.

"What do I teach? Science? Maths? English?"

Amelia bit her lower lip, remembering the previous shows of disbelieve, worrying away at the loose, chapped skin before muttering her faint reply, walking on eggshells in the tense atmosphere, visibly flinching before the damning words had even left her mouth.

"No Constance, Cackles is far from being an ordinary school, it is a place of education for young witches, to instruct them in the art of magic," her resolve was dying as Constance's eyes hardened visibly in disbelief, but she tried to finished, barely audible as she muttered, "You teach Potions and Broomstick Flying lessons…"

Constance seemed to freeze, her dark eyes glinting dangerously as she stared coldly back at Amelia.

"No…" she growled, her head sinking into her hands, the single word escaping in a quiet snarl, "Not this, not again…"

"Constance…"

"Don't 'Constance' me!" she spat, "What, so you think everything can be explained with a little hocus pocus? The now apparently obvious fact that I'm losing my mind altogether is clarified by an obsessive, lunatic old spinster who invades my private rooms and reassures me that every bizarre happening that my deluded eyes are showing me can simply be explained by the fact that I am somehow equipped with supernatural powers? Go on then- magic me better, if you're a witch, go on, magic me better!"

"Constance, I—"

"No!"

A high-pitched whistling noise cut through the stagnant air and the glass vase that sat on the bedside table, containing the vibrant yellow chrysanthemums suddenly exploded, showering Constance in glass, water slopping down the laminated plastic surface and dripping steadily onto the floor.

Constance broke off from her angry tirade to sigh deeply, rubbing her temples defeatedly. "Listen to me…" she murmured, almost unconscious of her present company, "a deluded lunatic!"

She began to laugh, a humourless chuckle that wracked through her weakened body, not an expression of mirth, but the only remaining emotional outlet to express the absurdity of her situation, roaring away to herself as she dragged her trembling fingers through her matted ebony hair, peals of bitter laughter echoing faintly within the lofty space of the hospital room.

"And I'm sure that you'll now tell me that I was somehow responsible for that!" she gestured wildly towards the shredded remains of the flower arrangement, daring Amelia to speak.

"Well," Amelia cleared her throat awkwardly, "it's your magic that's responsible, just because you have forgotten how to control it, it doesn't mean that it disappears, Constance. Magic is in your very soul, the lifeblood that keeps you alive; it just appears as a raw, unfocused power when you are particularly in danger or upset-"

"I don't believe you," Constance interrupted flatly, her eyes taking on a deadened look of mistrust, as she leant forward and placed a hand upon the back of Amelia's wrist, "I don't know who you are, or what you want, but stay away from me!"

"Constance, please!"

"I said," she snarled, "Stay away from me!"

"But-"

"I said," began Constance once more, but she trailed off, a distinct air of despondency about her as she waved her right hand carelessly, dismissing her previous anger,

"Oh, what does it matter?" she questioned sadly as she stared out of the window at the thriving metropolis below, "Even if I did know you, I can't recall you, even if what you are telling me is true, I have no means of contradicting it, nothing concrete to rely on given the state of my memory… you could tell me that I was born on the moon and I wouldn't be able to entirely disagree with you… I know what _**I **_feel is correct and accurate, but who is to say if I am the one who is incorrect?"

She swatted her hand down impatiently upon the thin duvet cover, the perpetual frown of confusion returning to her pale features as she sighed helplessly, more to herself than to Amelia.

"What does any of it matter?

**A/N: A huge thank you to everyone who has reviewed and read this story so far, I only hope that you are enjoying reading it as much as I am enjoying writing it! Big thanks must go to the wonderful Dissecting Pomegranates for playing ping pong with ideas and for casting her eyes over certain parts of this chapter *awards cookies***

**Please review and let me know your thoughts on this chapter- thank you!**


	3. Chapter 3

_Sob, sob, sob. An inhuman weeping from the hunched figure in black as she slumped wearily over the large dining table, nursing a large, fingerprint-stained glass of amber liquid, abandoning her strict rules of etiquette for the first time in living memory as she gingerly placed her bony elbows upon the table top, bracing her willowy fingers together to form a trembling cradle for her blazing forehead, stinging tears rolling silently down her cheeks in a never-ending torrent. Hearing the feared monster cry was far more sinister than the usual cacophony of wild screams and shrieks that made up her usual vicious dialect. To see the miniscule chink in the indefatigable armour made her even more terrifying, to know that she was capable of such remorse, and yet chose to show none to her, despite of all that she had done… Emotion was a weakness, a frivolous waste of time, energy and logic… Silence fell, wild sobs no longer punctuating the air, a deadly hush as her unwanted presence was detected, the monster raising her red-rimmed eyes to glower back, spitting with malevolence, metaphorical flames of anger bursting forth from her flared nostrils as she turned her attentions to her unwitting prey. Caught in observation of a scene that she should never have witnessed… and now there would be pain… so much pain…. raw anger and humiliation turning to white hot revenge as something heavy impacted with her slender frame, she felt as if she had been struck by a lead weight… her chest was closing up… her lungs on fire as she sank to her knees… A hand swooped from the depths of the darkness, clutching a large fistful of her long, dark tresses, pulling so tightly that she could feel hairs detaching from their roots one by one, the incessant pressure rippling across her scalp as the tormentor leant closer, her sour breath tickling unpleasantly against her cheek as she growled ominously into her ear, "You never saw anything… do you understand?"_

XXX

"111, 113, 115… it must be here somewhere!" muttered Imogen Drill counting wearily as she trudged along the seemingly never-ending street, counting the long list of houses as she fumbled amidst the dark depths of her backpack, searching fruitlessly for her umbrella. Summer had lasted an unusually long five days before returning to the characteristic humid drizzle that was to be expected of the British summer. It had been a long morning, painstakingly following the request made of her by her fellow member of staff during her routine visit.

"Number 117," she consulted Constance's narrow scrawl before looking up expectantly. "This is it…"

XXX

**Earlier that morning:**

"Well, it's tough, being the only non-witch on the teaching staff…"

"You're not a-?"

"Oh good Lord, no!" snorted Imogen as she leant back comfortably into the chair, crossing one of her long legs over the other in her usual casual manner, "But that's not to say that I haven't ever wished that I was… it can certainly get a bit tough when it's only you who can't perform any of the amazing tricks that everyone else can... some people do judge you like that…"

_Especially like you used to… _she thought to herself as she stared back at the frail woman opposite her, dark hollows appearing amidst the pale complexion, cheekbones painfully defined, dark eyes darting nervously around the room, mildly mistrustful of everything in sight, like an animal in caged captivity, Constance Hardbroom had been effectively imprisoned by her own mind, her own worst enemy as ever, invincible to all-only to be beaten by herself.

"But, didn't it bother you that _magic_ may actually exist?" muttered Constance, a slight crease appearing in her brow as she frowned slightly, plucking absent-mindedly at the fraying cuff of her dressing gown, "That everything that you grew up believing in was wrong?"

"Well, it was hardly what I would call a normal job interview!" Imogen smiled wistfully to herself, "I had previously been working at an all-girls academy, Heversham High. I had a good job, my very first job after teacher-training college, as an assistant head of department- it was a reasonable salary for somebody who was used to working all hours in a pub on minimum wage to finance her way through college, and I loved teaching the girls…" she sighed, running a tanned hand through her short blonde spikes.

"But, there was quite a personality clash with the rather formidable head of department, one Veronica Pike: a tweedy, egocentric throwback who believed in death or glory as the only sensible method of approaching a sporting fixture. She was an unmitigated bully, and would resort to anything to get her own way. Students and staff alike were petrified of her. Shortly after I arrived, I came across her screaming, I mean, _literally _screaming at this poor girl who had had the misfortune to have fallen over during a basketball match, and as a result had dropped the ball, which the other team then picked up to score with! It wasn't her fault, the girl was exhausted from the non-stop intensive training that she had been made to take part in, not allowed to rest or eat until she had completed the tasks set to her, and had literally collapsed from over-exertion! I decided to lodge a complaint against Pike and her outrageous behaviour, and the next thing I knew, she had turned the tables, claiming that it was me who had cornered the girl, and had even "persuaded" the girl in question to testify against me! Of course, she was too terrified to do anything to other than what Pike wanted her to do, so…" she broke off and shrugged non-committedly, evidently more hurt by the events than she was letting on in her account, "Last in- first out, etcetera, etcetera.."

"You were sacked, because of her?" indignation was rife in Constance's voice as she stared in disbelief at Imogen.

Imogen nodded quickly, staring at the backs of her hands in a bid not to be seen to be over-emotional about having to recount her dismissal. "Yes, but in a way, it was one of the best things that could have happened to me…"

A raised eyebrow from Constance was her invitation to continue.

"A few days after I had left Heversham, I had moved back into my parents' house- unable to pay the rent on my flat with no money coming in; I was at a bit of a loose end. But, a chance encounter with Davina…" she broke off and gestured towards the door, rolling her eyes fondly, "in a local café was enough to set events in motion that lead to me getting an interview for Cackles Academy!"

She lowered her voice and leaned closer, "I mean-how many people do you know who stroll into a teashop with a besom broomstick under one arm, followed by a decidedly moth-eaten looking cat and immediately show more culinary interest in devouring the table decorations than anything on the menu? She then managed to throw an entire plate of fruit salad over my head, and somehow mysteriously managed to repair a shattered glass bowl and remove the cream from my hair when she thought that nobody was looking! After that rather unfortunate introduction, we struck up a rather long conversation; I still had no idea that she was a witch at this time. All I knew was when the talk turned to work, that she told me that Amelia was looking to start physical education lessons for the girls at the academy, and, before I could blink, I had an invitation to meet with Miss Amelia Cackle to discuss a potential job, teaching at her academy!"

"But," she cleared her throat, chuckling slightly to herself, "It certainly took a while to accept that people could do magic! I nearly died of shock when you first-"

"When I what?" came the prompt reply, slightly edged with sarcasm, "Turned you into a frog? "

"No, Constance..." Imogen ventured nervously, shifting awkwardly in her seat, "You could always appear from thin-air… as you did in my interview and nearly gave me heart-failure! I always used to think you were watching everyone… you certainly had a sixth-sense for detecting troublemakers!"

"Oh, wonderful… I'll add teleportation to the miraculous list of skills that I apparently possess!" muttered Constance, swatting her bony hand impatiently upon the soft folds of the duvet. Her face softened as she looked back at Imogen.

"I'm sorry..." she sighed, "I know I shouldn't act like this… It's not your fault that I am in this irksome situation, but nothing, _nothing_, makes any sense, nothing correlates to anything else anymore- it's all a blur of mixed up details, as if somebody has painted over the top of a masterpiece- daubed new colours over the original shades, confused and hidden the perfect details behind a murky shroud… permanently hidden the truth from view…"

"Thank you," she lifted her head and offered a small smile by means of apology to Imogen, "thank you for being so accepting of me in my current state-"

"You're thanking… me?"

"Yes. For talking to me as if I weren't suddenly about to attack you, for being patient enough to know what it's like to have all this terrifying talk of magic and the supernatural being bandied around you like some impossible dream that refuses to end…"

"Constance… I…"

"..and for brightening up my exceedingly dark day with your company…"

"Oh, well..."

_I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me…_ Imogen thought to herself.

"So, Imogen? Imogen." Satisfied that she had recalled the woman's name correctly, Constance leant closer, her quiet tones falling to a whisper, "It is because of this, that I need to ask for your assistance on a very, very private matter…"

"Oh? What sort of matter?"

Constance straightened up, looking furtively at the door before fumbling beneath her pillow to extract a rather battered looking spiral-bound notepad.

"The doctors gave me this to write in, anything that I might remember or think I remember…" she explained, leafing through the slightly crumpled pages with a determined accuracy.

"Now then… ah!" her bony finger stopped scrolling through the neat black writing, tapping gently upon the text in question.

"This is the address, the address that my memory is busily telling me that I live at, where the school is that I work at… eventually, no matter how diverse the memory, everything leads back to here…"

She stopped, her dark eyes meeting with Imogen's green eyes, almost pleading with her as she continued her request.

"Please, Imogen- would you go to this address for me? Tell me what you find? I need to know what is there, if there is any link at all, or whether I am merely falling into the depths of insanity and making wild presumptions about properties that I have never visited in my life. Either way, for my sake- please, will you do this for me?"

"Constance, I—"

"Please!" an uncharacteristically emotional plea erupted stiltedly from between the thin lips of the woman sat opposite her, "This is the only way…the only way of knowing…"

She gritted her teeth as the uncomfortable confession made its way jerkily from within her, awkwardly making itself known, her usual verbal grace and eloquence somewhat deserting her at the alarming prospect of having to reveal some rather uneasy suspicions.

"I-Imogen, to be quite honest, I'm… I'm… almost, almost scared of what this might bring, what it might reveal, or not- but whether it proves me mad or not, at least I'll be some way towards knowing… perhaps it is merely a form of rational insanity, if there is such a thing…"

Imogen nodded quickly, her eyes prickling slightly with the faint burning sensation of tears welling up at the sight of the helpless shell of a woman whom she had until a week ago had lived in absolute fear of- Constance Hardbroom, asking for her help, being gentle and friendly? Surely this was some bizarre dream that she was about to wake from, a hallucination of the most peculiarly vivid kind.

_Have I inadvertently ingested one of Davina's home-remedies again? _ She found herself thinking to herself.

No, this sensation was even more curious than that- was she really about to cooperate with Constance Hardbroom? That in itself was a record for the two women, who both secretly rather enjoyed their on-going spats and one-upmanship that fuelled the majority of their usually heated discussions- but, she reminded herself, that was a different Constance, a Constance who was very much out of reach at this point.

"Yes, I'll do it…" she returned the smile awkwardly, as her mind filled with questions like a swarm of wasps buzzing angrily inside her temples, generating a multitude of questions that she longed to ask, certain that this would be a wasted mission. "No problem."

_Did Constance ever leave the academy? _No, she lived there for the entire year round, reasoned Imogen to herself, certain that this was once again another of the poor woman's constructs.

"Thank you," relied Constance quietly as she carefully tore the faintly lined paper from the notepad and pushed it into the sport's mistress's hand.

"And Imogen?"

"Yes?"

"Please don't tell anyone about this, especially Amelia…"

"Why?"

"Just… just don't."

XXX

Imogen paused outside a large set of gothic wrought iron gates, ornately decorated with elegantly winding designs, guarded either side by a pair of faintly crumbling stone pillars, the bases of which were covered hungrily by various mosses and lichen, determined to evade the organised force of destruction that had tamed the wild garden that had previously lain behind the forbidding gates. A tall, redbrick house stood proudly at a respectable distance back from the quiet private road, nearly hidden behind a tall, well-maintained hedge. Decidedly gothic in style, the house boasted several towers and sweeping, grand architecture- a miniature castle hidden amidst the urban sprawl of the capital, so very traditional, so very Constance…

Her eyes detected a miniscule twitch in the heavy cream curtains that hung at the large arched window on the ground floor, an unseen observer cautiously watching her from within the impressive property. She took a moment to inhale deeply before summoning the courage to carefully push open the heavy black gate and walk purposefully up to the dark green painted front door. She raised her hand to knock, but the door swung open before her fist could make contact with the oak surface.

"Can I help you?" a calm, patient voice enquired patiently, low, well-educated contralto tones coloured with well-articulated annunciation, professional, but not cold and aloof, a faint edge of warmth to the business-like manner. A tall, willowy woman was standing there, with elegantly styled iron-grey hair, worn tied back in a low style that contrasted strikingly with her well-fitting dark clothes. Her appearance was timelessly graceful and made it hard to place an exact age upon her well-proportioned, albeit slightly wrinkled features. She was wearing a minimal amount of makeup and jewellery- a faint shimmer of coral lipstick offset by a slender gold bangle at her wrist and a simple string of large, glistening, milky-white pearls which was doubled twice around her neck. Her already impressive stature was further contributed to by the pair of soft black leather high-heels of a modest height. Her fingernails were long and shapely, professionally manicured, and a pair of tortoise-shell reading glasses was perched delicately upon the end of her nose.

"Umm…" The usually articulate sports mistress was rarely struck dumb in conversation, but she found herself flushing bright red as she fumbled for words like a tongue-tied teenager, twisting her hands together awkwardly as she tried to put her inquiry into words.

"Yes?"

"I- somebody I know, a-a friend, she sent me here, here to, to find out w-whether…"

She broke off as the homeowner raised an inquisitive eyebrow at the sight of the mildly dishevelled woman who was standing on her doorstep, blonde hair lightly tousled, sparkling green eyes traced with dark shadows that betrayed her recent sleepless nights. She cleared her throat, holding up the crumpled piece of paper.

"Does Constance Hardbroom live here?" she asked hopefully, looking for the slightest flicker of recognition in the other woman's face.

"No…" a faint frown crossed the mildly lined face as she searched her memory for the name, "I haven't been a resident in this neighbourhood for a particularly long time, but I don't think I know a-a, what was it again? Hardboom?" Harpbroom?" she continued to mutter quietly to herself, trying every variation of the name under the sun.

"Hardbroom, Constance Hardbroom," corrected Imogen, gritting her teeth faintly as the image of the hospital-bound Constance wound itself firmly into her mind's eye, " I-I…" she trailed off wearily, running a stray hand through her untidy hair, ruffling the blonde spikes with her combing fingers.

"I'm sorry, I-I should go…" a crack appeared in her voice as she turned to leave, gesturing weakly into the air in mild despair. "I'm sorry to have wasted your time…"

Of course it would have been a dead end. A complete blank, yet another of Constance's memories that could be proved to be false, another complete impasse of false construction from her injured, reeling mind. How on earth was she going to break this to Constance? How could she be the one to shatter the miniscule grain of hope that the poor woman was clutching to? Her despair must have been present in her face, as suddenly, from nowhere, a comforting hand placed itself upon her shoulder.

"Hey, hey, hey…" a quiet voice soothed, "What's the matter? You look as if you've been in real trouble, are you sure that there's nothing that I can do to help?"

Imogen looked up into a concerned pair of hazel eyes, daring her own composure to leave her as she bit her lip anxiously, an unfamiliar sensation of tiredness and emotion rising up like a tidal wave within her, the combined impact of the previous seven days hitting home in one fell swoop.

"Oh… it's nothing really…" she managed, attempting a nonchalant smile that froze halfway across her lips.

"Hmmm, it looks like it…" murmured the statuesque woman, a faint hint of disbelief present in her voice. "At least let me invite you in for a cup of tea before you set off on your travels again?"

She left the question dangling enticingly in the air, long enough for Imogen to nod jadedly before allowing herself to be steered into the soft, welcoming glow of the sumptuous drawing room. Light was flooding into the large room from the high, arched windows, illuminating the pale magnolia painted walls and the simple antique furniture that lined the edges of the room. Beautifully carved tables and framed pictures complimented each other in a simplistic but high-quality array, period features maintained amidst the plush modern interior.

"Now, you sit there…" Imogen found herself seated gently upon a cream-leather sofa, next to an expensive looking woollen throw, "And I'll go and get some tea? You do drink tea? Would you rather have coffee?"

"Tea… would be fine, thank you…" she managed to murmur before her mysterious hostess smiled encouragingly and disappeared off to the kitchen in a soft swish of black fabric and a faint clatter of pearls, a faint trace of Chanel perfume lingering momentarily in her wake.

Imogen sighed, leaning back gratefully into the soft textile surroundings, kneading her aching eyes against her cool palms, tiredness and frustration pounding angrily behind her temples in a dizzying burst of percussion, leaden eyelids protesting vehemently against their 36 hour spell of enforced wakefulness. She stifled a yawn. What on earth was happening to her? Life had skewed off at such a bizarre tangent that it had left her completely disorientated, her usual routines decaying to nothingness- how long had it been since she had been for a morning run? Spoken to Serge? She was always at the hospital now, her life revolved around looking after Amelia and Davina's needs, or sitting with Constance. Constance… It would be fair to say that neither woman had felt anything short of disinterest and mild contempt for each other up until last week- but, strangely, now she felt… a connection?

"Milk? Sugar?"

The sudden enquiry rudely snapped her out of her reverie as a steaming willow-patterned teacup was thrust beneath her nose with the determined politeness of an expert hostess.

"Thank… thank you." She eased herself up into a more accessible position and accepted her refreshment.

"Milk, no sugar, thanks..."

An awkward, protracted silence fell as the elegant woman seated herself gracefully upon the other end of the settee, carefully crossing one slender leg over the other, nothing breaking the steady hush of the environment except for the delicate chink of the silver-teaspoon against the bone china cup, as she committed her full attention to the stirring the swirling brown liquid.

"So," the well-educated voice broke into the mute surroundings as she set the spoon carefully into the blue-patterned saucer, taking a minimal sip from the steaming liquid. "I hope you'll forgive me for being as bold to say this, but I sense that you are in some sort of trouble, perhaps?" She trailed off, concern evident in her eyes as she cast a sideways look at her unexpected houseguest.

"Yes..." Imogen's voice was hoarse as she nodded briefly, "Well, not me as such..."

She gripped the sides of her saucer tightly as she stared resolutely at the floor, a large lump having appeared unexpectedly within her throat.

"It's my colleague. She's been in a terrible accident..."

She stopped, clearing her throat loudly in a bid to shift the growing ball of emotion that was threatening to develop into tears if left unchecked.

"She's… she's lost her memory completely.. of everything…everybody she knows… everywhere she's been…"

"That's awful..." soothed the calm voice, a reassuring hand reaching across and squeezing Imogen's wrist faintly, "But, I'm sure that she is having the best medical care available, and that time itself will help to heal that particular ailment… most things in life become less painful with time… and I'm sure that you are doing all that you can to make things as easy and accessible as possible for her…"

Imogen nodded, her head feeling as if it had been stuffed with cotton wool, a dull, muggy fog of supressed anxieties and fears balling up tightly within. Talking was not helping, serving only to aggravate the rising feelings that were fighting for release, straining at iron chains that her self-control had placed around them, caging them in.

"So,"

The other woman's voice broke into her thoughts once more.

"What does this all have to do with my house? And this person whom you are looking for?"

Imogen let out a breath that she had been unaware of holding as she took a much-needed gulp of tea.

"Well, this may seem hard to believe…" she began, raising her eyes to meet those of the other woman, "but, she thinks that she remembers this house, for some reason or another?"

A faintly puzzled look dawned upon the tall woman's features, "So, your companion is- Constance, Constance?" she broke off to mutter distractedly beneath her breath, "Oh, I'm getting so forgetful these days, what was that surname again?"

"Hardbroom," supplied Imogen flatly, for yet another time, "Constance Hardbroom. And yes, it was her that was involved in the accident."

"Well—" she broke off once again, "I'm sorry, I don't I ever caught your name?"

"Imogen."

"Well, Imogen, as I say, I haven't lived in Coombe Wood Drive for a particularly long amount of time, but I'm afraid that that name simply doesn't ring a bell with me. I know that the house was empty for quite a while before I purchased it three years ago, so it is highly possible that the previous owners may have known your friend?"

Imogen nodded silently, wishing she could make her escape from the house, knowing that there were no more leads to be found.

"I'm Eleanor by the way…" a graceful hand was proffered, which she shook reluctantly.

"But," she paused thoughtfully, "I may well be able to contact the estate agents who sold me the house; there may well be a point of contact for the previous owners within their records?"

Imogen looked up hopefully, "Well, if you were able to?"

"I'll try my best, I promise…" smiled Eleanor, a gentle smile lighting up her faintly lined features, "Anything to be of some help, and my nephew does work for the company in question, so I can attempt to trace the previous owners for you?"

"Thank you," whispered Imogen, draining the remaining dregs from her teacup, returning a weak smile, "Thank you very much… I know that Constance would appreciate this…"

Eleanor leant forwards, rummaging within a black leather handbag, extracting a slimly bound diary, scribbling busily upon one of the pages in a sloping script, before tearing it carefully from the book.

"Here," she said, pushing the lined fragment towards Imogen, "This is my telephone number, call me in a couple of days, and I'll see what I can do."

Imogen murmured her thanks, writing her own mobile number on the back page of Eleanor's address book in her neatly rounded handwriting. Her digital watch beeped intrusively, causing her to flinch as she consulted the time.

"I-I'd better be going…" she gestured awkwardly towards the timepiece, "It's visiting time at the hospital in about 20 minutes, I really should go and meet my other colleagues…see how Constance is..."

"I understand," nodded Eleanor as she rose to her impressive height, guiding Imogen towards the front door, "Have you got far to go?"

"Oh, it's not far… only about 15 minutes up the road..."

"I see."

They reached the hallway and Eleanor eased open the catch upon the heavy timbre door.

"And Imogen?"

"Yes?"

"Take care. And if you need anything, don't hesitate to call me- I know how difficult these situations can be…" she trailed off sadly with a faint shrug of her narrow shoulders. "Anytime…"

"Thank you…" smiled Imogen, "For the tea… and everything…"

"It was my pleasure."

The dark green door swung closed behind Imogen as she swung her rucksack onto her back and walked slowly across the gravelled drive.

XXX

She consulted her watch and swore faintly as she picked up her pace, her dry trainers squeaking slightly against the wet paving stones. She had promised to meet Amelia in five minutes time- she couldn't be late, nobody knew where she had disappeared to on her secret errand…

She extracted her iPod from the depths of her bag and fought to untangle the jumbled mass of white cable of her headphones, before selecting a particularly upbeat, fast playlist.

Her feet began to pound the ground, faster and faster, sending up little splashes from the standing water, soaking the tops of her socks as her pace quickened, her arms beginning to drive the tempo as her stride lengthened, hurtling forwards with a fresh injection of pace. Oh, it felt so good to be running again, her head was clearing from beneath the oppressive, tired dullness, her senses far more alive than they had been in a long time, her lungs drawing in breath after breath as a broad grin of contentment spread widely across her face, as for just a solitary moment, all her cares and worries disappeared into the whirlwind blur of turbulent air that she left disturbed in her speeding wake as she sped through the rainy streets of London towards the hospital.

**A/N: Well, I finally got around to updating! I'm delighted to say that I'm off to university to study Music in September, so haven't had much time to write recently, what with having to sort out accommodation etc. but I've finally got this chapter finished! Big thanks to Dissecting Pomegranates for her help with ping pong for this chapter *awards cookies*, and a huge thanks to everyone who has read or reviewed this story so far- your reviews really do mean a lot, so please keep them coming!**


	4. Chapter 4

_**Tick-tick-tick**_

Nothing stirred as the clock continued its mundane job of marking time, a faintly resonant click of metronomic certainty as the plastic hands relentlessly continued their non-abating chase of each other around the circular plane.

_**Tick-tick-tick**_

The manic bustle of the day had fallen to the supressed whispers of the night, a quiet hush of subdued stillness had cast itself in a web of silence over the hospital, the frenzy of the city falling to a quiet slumber as the rowdy madness of day to day life was paused momentarily in the presence of the early hours of the morning.

_**Tick-tick-tick**_

To the observing eye, Constance Hardbroom slept quietly on- motionless save for the minute twitching of the faintly wrinkled, paper-thin skin of her eyelids- the only windows into the racing recollections of her dreaming mind. Outwardly static, frozen in her immobility, she was held down by her own paralysis to endure the abrasive torture of the raging storm of memories within…

Xxx

"_No! Please…"_

_She winced inwardly as she heard the gasped plea fall fruitlessly from her lips, lost amidst the blaze of pain that was rippling through her, the usually controlled low tones constricted by the tight ball of tears that was wedged tightly within her throat, an ever expanding knot of emotion slowly crushing her oesophagus, filling her trembling throat with an acrid blend of agony and raw fear. _

_Her tormentor said nothing, save for the thin, cruel lips flexing into a miniscule interpretation of a smile, her tear-reddened eyes diminishing as she regained control of herself once more. The same, giddying rush of sadistic joy flowing forth from her as she tightened her grip, the talon-like claws crushing ever tauter, so much so that the muscles in the slender porcelain hand began to tremble faintly beneath the strain. _

"_Oh no, Constance..." the familiar breathy whisper, this time stained with the peaty edge of whiskey, unfurled itself around her, seeping into her sensitive nostrils as her head was jerked backwards, made to stare into the manic, remorselessness eyes as a single, cold finger traced almost lovingly down the exposed path of her swan-like neck, a lingering touch that ate slowly into the skin, burning cold against the panicked flush that was creeping across her pale, alabaster skin._

"_I don't believe that you have learnt your lesson yet…"_

_A whispered curse slipped from between the cracked lips and Constance's eyes rolled back into her head as a blood-curdling scream ripped through the air, which after a delayed period of time, she managed to identify as her own, so much was the pain that her perceptions were momentarily distanced from the scene of the torture. A shrill, child-like scream, brittle and piercing, a sound that raked through the still atmosphere like a scalpel through flesh._

"_P-please…" her teeth were chattering in fear now, short, shallow breaths escaping in a broken hiss as the air rasped from the back of her throat, knowing as soon as the stumbled utterance left her mouth what fate awaited her. She didn't have to wait long._

_Smack. A stinging agony struck her cheek, an angry red welt searing into life immediately._

"_I would have thought by now that you would have known not to stammer, Constance..."_

_She drew in another breath, holding it until her lungs felt fit to burst, wilfully commanding her diaphragm to still, to be able to control herself once more._

"_I'm sorry... I didn't mean to…" her weakened voice cracked faintly as she focused on articulating every word of her apology correctly to avoid provoking further wrath._

"_You will soon learn Constance, that personal control, of all aspects of one's character is the key to magical success…. And it is those, who, such as yourself, who are incapable of even showing a modicum of the restraint required, who will never master the complexities of this art…"_

_Her voice fell to a dangerously soft dynamic._

"_Now then…" she began silkily, carefully brushing a lock of dark hair away from Constance's eyes, "What are we going to do about this blatant disregard for improvement, this stubborn … obstacle?"_

_Constance shook her head, wild-eyed as she attempted to avoid providing an answer to the question, premonition dawning within her hazel eyes as she tried to pull away from the possessive grip._

"_No…" she breathed hoarsely, "No.. please…."_

_The savage grin appeared triumphantly as the tall woman rose to her feet, her hand closing tightly around Constance's emaciated arm, crushing her diminutive bicep as she focused upon dematerialising, revelling in the sharp intake of breath from her young companion as the room dissolved into its familiar shards of reality, her very form momentarily disintegrating as they travelled through the empty void of space. _

_Darkness. A familiar drip of water in the background of her senses as the clammy atmosphere of the cramped cell made itself known, the heavy scent of the damp assaulting her nostrils as she recoiled in fear. Not here, not again…_

"_It's very simple, Constance…" the sugar-sweet voice had returned, mocking in its lightness, "The only way out is the same way as you arrived… none of these futile flaws… control and conviction in your ability, and you will easily be able to escape…"_

_The voice dropped to a menacing whisper that raised goosebumps upon her skin, "But, if you allow those useless vices to govern you… then you only have yourself to blame for your failure…"_

_The sudden silence was far more deafening than the whisper, the void left by her presence soon swallowed up by the gaping hunger of the cramped atmosphere, greedily leeching the slightest inch of space into its crushing closeness._

_Constance felt her pulse quicken as she stretched out a trembling hand to the cold, mossy wall that seemed to press closer to her willowy body, a living, breathing tomb. Her shallow breaths were coming ever more rapidly as she explored the confines of her cell, gritting her teeth determinedly in a bid to prevent the fearful trembling of her hands._

"_Keep calm…" she pleaded with herself, licking her drying lips as the crushing weight of anxiety swung into her chest like a wrecking-ball through the side of a condemned building. _

_**Focus… need to escape… need to get out of here now….**__her thoughts were raging, caught up in a wild storm of distress._

_**Rustling? What was that rustling? Not rats… please not rats… **_

_Her head was beginning to spin, dizziness all too willing to envelope her terrified limbs as she tried to turn to find a clear space, only to be confronted by yet another grimly determined wall._

_**Focus… let the magic flow…**_

_Bile was rising in her throat, as a wave of nausea passed through her, her trembling limbs barely able to support her frail weight as the panic began to take control._

_**Focus, Constance…. Get yourself out of here….**_

_She raised her trembling arms and folded them tightly across her chest, shivering violently as she tried to centralise the magical energy…_

_**Focus… Need to get out…**_

_Her vision dipped and swayed, unable to even focus on what was floor and what was not, her oxygen-starved muscles protesting violently at the dizzying hyperventilating, the faint spark of magical hope fading and dying, buried beneath the landslide of her old terrors as she sank to the floor, her lungs closing up beneath the oppressive mass of fear._

_**Let me out… I'm going to die…. I'm going to die here, alone in this dark cell… **_

Xxx

The dark eyes flew open as she fought for movement in her leaden limbs, straining to sit up, but the fight was futile against the deadened mass of her own body. Sweat was present in a glistening sheen upon the pale forehead as she fought for her breath, feeling as if she were being held under water, attempting to flail and struggle, but ultimately the bedclothes suddenly weighed a ton, as if they had been cast in iron, pinning her firmly down to the mattress, embedding her in its soft texture, sinking into the comfortable material as if a quicksand were stealthily taking hold of her sleeping limbs.

She blinked in surprise as fine specks of dust began to fall upon her face, spitting in discomfort as the fine powder began to invade her mouth, coasting her flared nostrils in a light coasting as it drifted lazily down from the air. Plaster dust? She thought confusedly to herself as another cloud fell with a faint scattered whisper onto the bare linoleum floor.

Once more she tried to wrench her limbs free from the temporary state of paralysis that sleep had left behind it, squinting angrily as a painful fleck of dust met with the sensitive flesh of her eye. She flinched as a low, determined rumble began to infiltrate her hearing, her pulse quickening at the intimidating, bass ostinato at the realisation of quite what was causing it.

The heavy rumbling of moving brickwork.

Slowly, but with grim determination, the sparsely painted, gleaming white walls were pushing ever close to her isolated bed, the clinical paintwork glistening eerily in the shimmering moonlight as it bore down upon her paralysed form.

She bit down firmly upon her bottom lip, attempting to silence the scream that was waiting to escape, attempting to breathe slowly as her panicked lungs set off at their usual manic tempo, her ragged gasps only increasing at the realisation that she was powerless to escape the insane into which she had supposedly awoken. Life was supposed to be _rational,_ the bewildered voice inside her head screamed, wringing its hands in disbelief as yet another illusion of normality was shattered, the determined walls drawing claustrophobically close, a blank-faced army of destruction marching tirelessly onward, meeting the edges of her bed, the furniture buckling beneath the oppressive crushing force as the concrete and brickwork continued to crumble beneath the tensing compression- forcing her into a tight ball, trapped once more in her windowless cell, her bony knees curling up tightly beneath her chin as the resurfaced memories danced around her mind in savage triumph, all-encompassing in their destructive power. The ceiling was now slowly sinking towards her, wearing its standard uniform of blankly tessellated white tiles, cold in their callous, clinical appearance, the faceless mass descending menacingly downwards.

"Get me out of here... please… somebody, help me!"

Her voice returned to her as she screamed, her throat raw with terror as she hammered upon the enclosing walls with her bare fists, little flakes of neutral paintwork lodging themselves firmly beneath her shortened fingernails, the skin torn and bleeding around her cuticles as she scratched helplessly at the mockingly inflexible walls of her encroaching confinement.

"Let me go!"

Loud crackles of what appeared to be static electricity were lighting up the pitch black surroundings, little sparks of pale blue light momentarily illuminating her ever diminishing cell. She raised trembling fingers in front of her face, her hands shaking beneath the raging power that was accumulating in her willowy fingertips, a dazzling glow that was now nearly blinding her in its furious intensity, a raging fire of awesome power that was threatening to burst from within her frail chest, her lungs labouring with the additional burden of sustaining the presence of this unknown force, her breaths coming in short, panicked gasps, as she fought to remain in control, her body shuddering violently as a high-pitched frequency began to ring jarringly between her temples, an ear-splitting frequency that would have left her screaming in protest had she had the strength left to sustain such an action. Suddenly, she choked in fear, her hazel eyes rolling back into her head in pain as she felt her fragile, brittle body pulling into a million pieces, shattering as if she were nothing more than a mirror that had been struck by a hurtling stone, cracking, smashing slowly, a disintegrating glass statue , her soul frozen cold, watching on in horror and awestruck terror as the web of silvery lines spread across her pale skin, carving cleanly through the alabaster flesh as she felt herself disintegrate, buckling beneath the fear, the heavy destruction that was tearing through her, her wildly beating heart, fluttering as wildly as if a caged bird had been housed unwillingly within her chest cavity, suddenly stilled, pausing momentarily as she faded from view, nothing but raw energy dissipating into her bleak surroundings.

She blinked, terrified as upon opening her eyes to see the night stars looming large above her head, a dizzying perspective as they orbited slowly across her field of vision, burning brightly despite the gloom of the night, the moon, previously shrouded behind thick, heavy clouds of black cotton wool, a bank of faintly translucent clouds pulling apart to reveal the large orb in all its splendid brilliance. She was flying amongst the stars…. London spread out below her in a giddy map of bright, gaudy illuminations, hundreds of little threads of light spun together to form the dazzling urban fabric of the capital tapestry. Higher and higher, she rose effortlessly through the icy chill of the night air, unsupported and weightless as she drifted ever upward. But, something was far from right, she could feel it- the return of weight to her limbs, a heavy leadenness seeping across her, pulling her deeply beneath the surface of consciousness, sinking towards the ground- limp as a ragdoll, the turbulent air whistling around her loose-fitting hospital gown, her loosened stream of ebony hair whipping wildly around her face as she felt herself fall slowly earthward.

Xxx

"Amelia?" Imogen jogged hurriedly up the corridor towards the headmistress, her damp trainers squeaking slightly against the linoleum floor, "Amelia, thank God you're here," she paused, placing her hands on her hips and gulping in a welcomed gasp of air after ascending the many flights of steep stairs, "It's Constance… she's…"

"I know." Amelia's tone was more abrupt than normal, her calm features, those gained from years of practice as a headmistress, barely succeeding in masking the raging anxiety that lay below, "Dr Carroll told me as soon as I arrived…" She paused, her grey-blue eyes narrowing slightly as she stared at Imogen. "Why on earth didn't you come and find me? She's been missing for most of the night! Julia went in to check on her early this morning, and she'd gone! Don't you think that I would perhaps have liked to have been informed of what was going on?" she broke off, flustered as she twisted her wrinkled hands together, an accidental spark of magic dancing at her fingertips like a sudden burst of static electricity.

"Well, I, um, Amelia, it really wasn't…"

"Wasn't what? Any of my concern? Imogen, I have known Constance for considerably longer than you have, I have watched over her every day for the past two decades! She means more to me than a child of my own would! And you think that I wouldn't show the slightest concern over her current welfare?"

Her hands were employed in emphasising every sentence with violent stresses and swipes into thin air, as she was prone to under deep stress, her eyes glowing with a rare vitality as she spat out her concerned monologue. She took a deep breath; mentally admonishing herself for the look of hurt that was beginning to form in Imogen's confused green eyes.

"I'm sorry, Imogen…" she muttered awkwardly, letting her arms fall limply to her sides as she exhaled, "But, it's so difficult for me… for everyone to remain acting normally in this situation…."

Imogen nodded briefly, grateful for the apology.

"I know, Amelia… I know how difficult it must be …" Imogen looked directly into Amelia's eyes, her voice losing its usual well-projected confidence, acquiring a softer, more gentle hew as she placed a careful hand upon her arm in a bid to try and comfort the grey-haired woman.

"But I know that we—"

"No, you don't…" the rebuke came with a bitterness that was slightly shocking in its starkness, deeply at contrast with Amelia's usually sunny nature as she shrugged away uncomfortably from Imogen's touch.

"Oh, she'll talk to you… " she sighed, gesturing feebly with her hand, "You have no idea, Imogen, what it is like for me to try to communicate with a woman who I had previously treated like a daughter, a woman who is now as alien to me as if we had never met! Somebody who treats me with the cold hostility of the fact that I am the reminder of her place in the magical world, to see the blankness in her eyes as she looks at me, knowing that she can't even remember my name at times! To think that she remembers nothing of Cackles Academy, Constance made teaching her _life_, Imogen. And now… it's all gone, it's all changed…"

Amelia paused for a moment, running a weary hand across her face, cradling her blazing forehead in the cool embrace of her hand, dark rings, the evidence of many sleepless nights were burnt into her skin.

"But, why will she talk to you and not me?" she reiterated quietly, muttering more to herself than to her listening employee, "It was common knowledge that you two far from got along, what could you possibly say that would make her trust you more than she would me… she would tell me everything before, she could trust me…. And now, I'm worthless to her… nothing…"

"Amelia, I—"

"Have they found her yet?" Davina Bat's light tones trilled softly as she walked up to her fellow colleagues, twisting her conductor's baton nervously in her tangled, flyaway hair, busily forming a large knot in the mousy frizz.

"No," replied Amelia tersely as she surveyed the rather bedraggled appearance of the elderly witch, "And on the subject of disappearances, where exactly have you been Davina? It was your turn to sit with Constance yesterday evening."

Davina had in fact adopted the cleaning-stores cupboard in the hospital as a temporary home from home, and had spent most of the previous evening stealthily moving her few, battered possessions into the small dark space. Managing to accommodate a rather battered harmonium amidst the mops and buckets had been a considerable personal triumph.

"I-I, well.." she stammered guiltily, un-used to the severe tone present in the headmistress's voice, "I had just…"

"It doesn't matter!" snapped Amelia, resisting the urge to roll her eyes in frustration, "We need to find Constance, not stand around gossiping all morning!"

"Julia and some of the other nurses have got everyone looking for her—"

"Have they checked everywhere?" Amelia snapped roughly, cutting directly across Imogen, a sudden idea implanting itself in her head, a gleam of potential realisation present in her eyes.

"Y-yes, as far I as know…"

"I think not…" she swept past in a blur of black robes, leaving an equally bemused witch and mortal behind her, "there's one floor that they've forgotten…"

"Oh dear…" sighed Davina sadly as she leant against the wall, quietly summoning an extra chair into existence as she sat down gracefully and extracted the multi-coloured remnants of her knitting from within her handbag- the many-armed jumper had subsequently mutated in form, and now resembled a technicolour hedgehog (supposedly in homage to Davina's dearly lamented Sidney, the hog that she had been given to care for at Witch School, her cherished best friend who was now honoured once a year with a personal day of remembrance), and was now a large wodge of clashing stitches and colours, with several large knitting needle "spines" protruding from the misshapen lump. "I do hope that Constance is found soon, one can't help but feel that all this bad feeling is only going to get worse…"

Imogen nodded non-committedly, partially ignoring the continual babble that was flowing from the old woman's mouth as she fought to extract her spindly finger from within the mad tangle of clashing patterns and hues, instead choosing to dwell upon the look of unintentional venom that Amelia had worn when addressing her most junior member of staff. Again, her relationship with Constance had brought about conflict, but not of the usual genre- was it true that she finally felt that she could relate to Constance, now that she was more…. more, _human_? The mellowing of the previously authoritarian personality had simultaneously surprised and confused her, given the fact that she had indeed been selected to be the sole confident of the injured woman, a rare glimpse into the soul of the notoriously guarded witch, a woman who was no longer afraid to admit, at least to somebody, that she was scared.

A loud shriek from her elderly colleague brought her thoughts sharply back into reality.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Davina, it's only my mobile phone; you have heard it countless times!"

"Yes… but… I wish it wouldn't do that" Davina glared at the source of the noise, having placed a trembling hand over her heart, "the palpitations my dear, the palpitations!" she scolded mildly.

Imogen pulled out her mobile phone. It was buzzing angrily, as if a swarm of wasps had decided to nest within the plastic casing, a shrill peal screeching forth from the tinny speakers as the backlit keys flashed merrily away.

**Text message from Eleanor:**

_**Hello Imogen, thought I'd text to see how you were, you seemed in need of somebody to talk to the other day- any more news on your colleague's condition? I'm going to see my nephew today, so will ask about the previous owners of the house for you. **_

_**It is far better to face difficult matters in company than alone, remember that I'm here any time that you may need anyone to talk to. Eleanor x**_

Imogen smiled faintly at the message as she ran her thumb thoughtfully over the keys. Should she reply? Yes, why not?

**Text message from Imogen:**

_**Hi Eleanor, thanks for your kind message. Things have certainly taken a turn for the worse here- I'm v. worried about Constance at the moment, I'm really not sure what to do anymore, I just feel absolutely useless :(**_

_**Imogen x**_

Moments later, the phone buzzed once more, this time a much shorter message.

**Text message from Eleanor:**

_**Coffee? I'm around all morning if you want to drop by for a chat? **_

Imogen sighed thoughtfully, before composing her reply.

**Text message from Imogen:**

_**Thank you very much, I'll text if I'm around. Up at the hospital at the moment.**_

Xxx

Pausing to gasp wearily, Amelia rubbed vaguely at the searing stitch that was throbbing angrily in protest in her side, smiling in vindication as she realised that her initial hunch had been correct. She peered carefully through the narrow gap of the rooftop fire door that was slightly ajar, a faint chill whistling hungrily through the gap. A tall, dark-haired woman was sat with her back to her, perched uncomfortably upon the hard concrete, her willowy arms wrapped tightly around her bony knees as she stared listlessly out across the city landscape, the cool air faintly ruffling her tousled locks of hair, the only visible sign of movement from her still form save for the slow rise and fall of her breathing. She could never have been so far out of reach from Amelia, even though she sat barely ten feet away from her, it could have been an eternity in distance. The last cruel week had severed her connection to everything that she held dear, Amelia had lost her world, her dearest friend and eternally faithful colleague. Amelia savoured the moment whereby she could survey Constance undetected, drinking in the detail of the slender woman, desperate for the memories of happier times.  
What if Constance was lost forever, to never regain her memory and true identity? The thought sickened her to the core, a wild sense of desperation rushing through her as she clenched her teeth firmly. No! Constance would return, however long it took, she would remember, she _had_ to remember….

Taking a deep breath, Amelia slowly pushed open the heavy door with a soft creak of hinges. She crept slowly out across the rain-soaked flat roof, the trailing hem of her soft cloak soaking up some of the stagnant water as she moved closer to Constance.

"Oh Constance…. what are we going to do…" she sighed as she eased herself gently onto the floor next to her colleague, taking the frozen hand of the witch into her own and gently rubbing it in a bit to generate some circulation in the frozen limb. She slipped a comforting arm over the bony shoulders and pulled her old friend into a tight embrace, wincing inwardly, but not allowing her face to betray it as she felt the stiff reluctance of the other woman, Constance staring blankly over her shoulder, unable to reciprocate the gesture of affection, stiffly remaining steadfastly motionless.

"I don't know…" came the softly-spoken reply from her right, a hoarse utterance from between cracked lips, "I just don't know anymore…."

**A/N: Well, I've finally got around to updating this fic- I'm so sorry about the delay, but I've just started at university, so its been a mad few weeks whilst I try to find my feet, but a rare day to myself has led to this chapter being finished! A quick word of thanks must go to Dissecting Pomegranates for her ping pong of a couple of weeks ago, and her constant encouragement/support *awards cookies***

**I have also made a littler trailer for this fic, which you can view on my Youtube channel by following this link (take out the spaces) ** www. youtube watch ?v=JIezL_iHqlo& feature=plcp

**Thank you to you all for your lovely reviews, they really do make my day, and I would be delighted to hear what you think about this update. **


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